


Sentinel

by arancar_no_6



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing, more like an attempt to tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-29 20:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20802308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arancar_no_6/pseuds/arancar_no_6
Summary: York becomes an unwitting witness.





	Sentinel

**Author's Note:**

> @blitzythefanvergentpitserthings over on tumblr was my biggest supporter for this fic. Many thanks to you!!

York likes to think he isn't just the resident locksmith.

He fancies himself a decent shot, fair at CCQ, and pretty damn good at reconnaissance. His infiltration skills aren't too shabby either, probably not as good (or chaotic) as the Dakota twins get on the field, but he's got a quite a few solo recon assignments under his belt and one of the top simulation scores among Team Alpha. He fully acknowledges he's not Carolina good (who is?), but he's _pretty damn good_ at what he does and then some.

It's just that York didn't expect his skill set to be used like _this_.

Coupling was normal aboard the Mother of Invention, especially among its inhabitants. The ship rarely docked, so the massive vessel was well equipped with its own series of filtration and purifying systems, meaning they spent nearly every waking and sleeping moment in space, preferring to restock on perishables and other absolute necessities through shipments via Pelican deliveries. It was annoying, it was aggravating, but the Director was insistent.

The MoI was nearly its own sovereign city, hosting little shops here and there with producers and actual trading, so everyone got familiar and cozy with each other real quick. He knew everyone who worked close within PFL, a few of the pilots beyond 479er, and even a couple of the guys and gals down in Navigation. Sometimes things kinda... happened. What can he say; it got lonely, especially for the personnel and soldiers under Project Freelancer.

He himself had his eye on Agent Carolina. Deadly, fiery, beautiful Carolina. The kind of girl who could throw a coquettish smirk your way one night and hurl a military vehicle at you the next morning. His dream girl, really. Most of his attempts to hit on her fell flat, rarely reciprocated and never in that flirtatious way he sought, and so he felt it was time to get on her level in a way he knew she would appreciate.

So here he was, sneaking extra training slots during night cycles, hoping to get good enough that she would begin considering him a decent enough sparring partner. York was exhausted, a fine layer of sweat still clinging to his skin and his legs just a tad shaky as he sucked down the last of the water in his water bottle.

He eyed the bottom of the empty flask with a disappointed sigh, still thirsty but very desperate to hit his bunk before F.L.I.S.S. began turning the lights up throughout the Freelancer's residential wing. York diverted from his usual path back to his bunk with a long suffering groan, already aware that if he didn't do it now he would just wake up in an hour to get more water anyway, his mouth dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. And he was _not_ drinking from the attached W.C. faucet either. Gross.

'Might as well do it now', he mused to himself, rolling his eyes as he dragged himself over to the lounge and general living area.

He bypassed the common room entirely, turning immediately into the kitchenette and the water cooler buzzing away in the corner. York could weep, swigging a hearty gulp, grateful for the little appliance at times like this.

He was just about to take another drink when he heard a series of soft noises.

York paused, head tilting curiously and feet automatically moving him across the tiny hall and towards the entrance of the darkened lounge.

The Mother dimmed all lights during the night cycles, partly in an attempt to mimic the natural circadian rhythm but mostly as an energy conservation method. For security reasons, total blackout darkness was rare even in areas without any occupants, and so even if the ship's digital clocks stated it was currently 0324 hours, York could still see relatively well into what he thought was the vacant lounge.

York sucked in a quiet and shocked breath, quickly biting down on his lip to stop himself from making noise. He's seen plenty of couples in hidden corners getting touchy-feely, he just didn't think he'd ever see two bona-fide PFL agents going at it and going at it hard.

It took him a few extra seconds to realize that the agents he caught mid-fuck were Wash and Maine.

_Oh._

_WELL-_

The couple had taken one of the couches farther in and away from the doorway, enough so that they remained hidden for the most part save for the stifled they were making. Wash sat astride his partner, back arching against Maine's broad chest. The blond wore an oversized sleep shirt, legs bare and tense, his knees spread as wide as they could go. The tattered remains of his shorts and underwear hung twisted from around one quivering thigh, clearly having been torn off his body by sheer force in the heat of the moment. As Wash pressed back into his partner's body Maine curved over and around him, clenching a fistful of golden strands and wrenching the younger man's head back. The former Spartan was still mostly dressed, save for a sliver of dark skin where he'd pulled his pajama pants down just enough to allow for penetration. His other hand laid firmly over Wash's belly and held him close as he rose and fell at a steady pace, lip-locked and so consumed by one another that they failed to notice their unexpected voyeur.

York stilled and pressed himself closely to the wall, keeping himself as hidden as he could, disbelieving eyes glued to the half-dressed pair. The brunet wasn't even sure for how long he watched them; silent and near unblinking, time blurring somewhere between only a few moments to a couple of minutes. His mind raced, stomach twisting and palms growing sweaty, unsure of what to feel.

A fraction of him was horrified at catching who he felt was very much a little brother in the act, along with a healthy dose of shame at the pinpricks of arousal flaring in his gut. A bigger part of himself however, couldn't believe his _fucking luck_-

York was interrupted from his thoughts as Maine gripped onto the collar of Wash's shirt and pulled, fabric splitting at the abuse. Wash moaned brokenly at the blatant show of strength as he carelessly threw the scrap somewhere over his shoulder, fingers shoving the frayed edge aside to squeeze and palm at the bare swell of his chest. He pulled away from Wash's mouth to suck at his exposed throat, sharp teeth biting florid bruises into pale skin. Wash let out a particularly high pitched keen, his entire body tight as a bow, movements growing jerkier and rougher as he chased his climax. The sounds of their bodies meeting grew sloppier as a litany of filthy praises streamed from the lithe blond.

“Fuck me,” he hissed, pink tongue flicking out to wet swollen lips. “Oh fuck, you're so big. I'm so wet, baby, you're fucking me so good.”

York knew he had to move _now_. He slowly inched back, careful to keep his weight distributed and low to the floor to avoid giving his presence away, all the while the couple's cries and pants increased in volume and desperation just a couple feet away from him.

Once he broke beyond the open doorway, York quickly ran to his bunk. He held his breath the entire time, slapping his access code in and wheezing once his back hit the securely locked door. He stood in a dead silence for a long minute, breathing equalizing as he swallowed hard.

_Oh my god._

A mad giggle escaped York's pursed lips as he dragged himself into bed, wiggling and tossing under his covers with restless energy.

_The things I can do with this._

* * *

York woke slowly, groggy and groaning at the soreness in his limbs from last night's workout. Then he remembered the other things that happened last night and he nearly screamed, kicking off his layer of blankets as he rushed to dress for breakfast.

He cannot believe he walked in on Wash and Maine last night. Everyone and their mothers knew about the unlikely relationship between the rookie and the team heavy, and while the two tend to keep PDA to a minimum and their affections overall hidden from public eye, to catch them having some steamy and dirty reverse cowgirl sex in the lounge? Holy shit. He didn't know sweet baby-faced Wash had those types of kinks, or any kind of kinks at all. Or that he even knew what sex was. His mind positively buzzed with the possibilities for teasing the rookie, a weirdly excited and mischievous little yip escaping York as he bounded out of his quarters for the day.

He almost screamed again when he ran over to the agents' usual table in the mess five minutes later, hair haphazard and a curious amalgamation of leftover breakfast foods on his tray, and saw that Washington was still there.

York dropped his tray down on the empty spot next to the blond with gusto, the noise effectively startling him just enough for him to drop his utensils with a clatter.

The brunet beamed at him. Wash was in full armor, even his undersuit was firmly zipped up over his throat and York just _knows_ it was done to hide the mottled array of bites and bruises Maine put there just a couple hours earlier. “Good morning!” he bubbled, uncontrollably gleeful.

Wash frowned at York, eyeing him up and down. His brows hiked up for a moment before he finally returned his attention to his food. “Good morning? What's wrong with you today?”

York huffed at him, hooking an arm around his neck to haul him in close. “What? I can't be happy to see my favorite babylancer? Make sure to drink your milk, Wash. Gotta grow big and strong.”

Wash groaned, shrugging him off.

“Speaking of big-!”

It was now York's turn to jump, a loud clatter interrupting him mid-sentence as Agent Maine joined the increasing crowd at the table. Wash was unfazed by the noise, picking his fork back up to spear another bite of questionable-looking eggs into his mouth, offering a pleasant hello to his partner. Maine grunted in his general direction, his version of an early morning greeting.

_Oh this is too perfect._

“Hey big guy!” York chirps, poised to reach over and give Maine a friendly slap on the shoulder. He forgets who he is dealing with for all of a second when the super soldier suddenly growls at him, snatching the offending hand away and twisting York's arm backwards. The man yelps, immediately crumpling in on himself in pain.

“Okay, okay! Sorry! I'm sorry!! Wash _help me-!_”

Later that night, in the privacy of his quarters, York flexed his wrist with a wince. Maine had released him easily enough once Wash told him to, although not without a hard shove for good measure. In his excitement over teasing Wash, he'd forgotten about Maine and his penchant for putting people through walls. Of course, silly him. He'll get Wash next time.

* * *

York didn't see Wash again until a few days later on the training floor. Team exercises this time, specifically hardening paintball. York couldn't help but slump from his place in formation as F.L.I.S.S. began generating squad formations. God, he hated paintball sessions.

_Next match pending. Team A: Agents Washington, Georgia, and York to the floor please._

“Oh my god,” York whispered to himself. This is it. He almost tripped over his own two feet on his way to the ammunition table just as the project's A.I. announced the opposing team.

_Team B: Agents Wyoming, Maine, and Florida to the floor please. Round commences in 90 seconds._

York twitched a little at the line up. Okay. Alright. That's kind of a scary thought, but... alright. 'Couldn't think of a less terrifying team, huh F.L.I.S.S,' the brunet sighed to himself, mood dampening just a little at having to spend the next few days icing some seriously nasty bruising.

Georgia is a nervous, bumbling mess next to him. His hands twitched in his gauntlets and he squeaked as Florida sidled up to him with a salacious wink, old flirt that he is. York hid a snicker as the poor kid managed to both fluster under the agent's attention and cower as Wyoming leveled an ugly stare at the back of their heads. Poor Georgia.

_Round commences in 45 seconds._

His grin quickly grew twofold as his new favorite couple finally joined their little circle, murmuring to one another as they loaded up. York almost vibrated, nearly dropping a cartridge in his excitement as Wash reached out to gently touch Maine's arm goodbye. “Watch your six,” was all the younger man said, receiving an acknowledging grunt in return. York brusquely shoved his head into his helmet to hide his glee.

_Round commences in 10 seconds. Agents in position._

“Awww that's so sweet,” he cooed at the blond from their position in the northernmost point of the field, elbowing him in jest. Wash swatted at him, laughing shyly. “Shut up,” he snapped his helmet in place, voice flowing seamlessly through the comms, “you're acting like this is new.” York shrugged, loaded handgun at the ready as he and his team ducked behind the provided cover. “Oh come on, that was really cute. If anyone else tried to make a suggestion, he would have torn that hand right off.” He reached over, absently patting Georgia's shoulder in encouragement, “You really changed the big lug, didn't you? I bet he's all soft now. A big ol' cuddle bear for you on those cold nights.”

_Five, four, three..._

Washington snorted, peeking at the opposing team to plan his next move, “don't let him hear you say that.”

_...Two, one. Round start._

Wash broke to his left at the same time York vaulted over their cover. Georgia yelped as a splatter of mauve only just missed his head.

Paint flew across the massive arena, exploding into pillars and walls as they missed their targets. Florida, ever the sneakiest among the freelancers, joyously threw himself straight into the fray, easily sidestepping around the hardening ammunition coming right at him. It was a common strategy he played: making himself the target as his partner hid in the shadows, picking their enemies off. Team A kept their distance, keeping close but on the move, wary of the team heavy who had yet to make an appearance. Washington's eyes kept darting across the field, looking for a clear shot at Wyoming, as York settled next to him.

York discreetly tossed a grenade, its explosion of sticky paint nearly encasing Florida's feet and almost taking him out of the game. He quickly doubled back, earning them a few precious moments to strategize. York gave his ammo clip a quick glance, ensuring he still had a couple rounds before he returned to the simulation.

But first...

“No, really. I bet you could get him to do anything you want.” He wiggled his brows from beneath his protective veneer. The rookie couldn't see his face either way, but he felt it added to the conversation. “Has he ever brought you breakfast in bed? Made you a romantic mixtape? Does he leave you sexy little post-it notes in the morning?”

Wash stared at him incredulously, “...York, now's really not the time-”

“Aww Wash. Are we being shy about something?”

“York-”

“Hiding something Wash? Maybe something naugh-”

“York, move!”

York blinked and suddenly woke up in med bay.

* * *

Hairline skull fractures, moderate concussion, a broken arm, and bruised back and blue from head to toe.

North, his first visitor upon waking, offered him an account of the events.

“I've never seen anything like it,” he looked begrudgingly amazed, eyes distant as he tried to put his thoughts into words, “The big guy just kinda stopped, uprooted one of those big cement pillars, and just kinda... threw it at you guys.”

York accidentally inhaled a sip of his ice water, sending him into a fit of heaving coughs. North plucked the cup from his fingers and patted his back as he hacked and wheezed, helping him resettle once the fit passed a few minutes later. York groaned, stiff with pain. “He did what?! With Wash right there next to me?!?”

“Oh, Wash moved with plenty of time to spare. Not a scratch on him. I'm pretty sure Maine knew he was going to move in time anyway. You, on the other hand,” North shrugged, gesturing helplessly to York laying in bed, “You got completely bowled over. Knocked right out. F.L.I.S.S. stopped the match and training got suspended for a few hours. Thanks for that, by the way.”

The bedridden agent snorted, carefully pulling the thin hospital blanket over his shoulders. “So happy to help.” North chuckled at his put upon drawl, leaning back in the stiff little chair provided by the aides. “You're fine though, right?” He received a careless shrug and wave from the brunet, who immediately winced as he jostled his injuries, “Yeah, just got a lot on my mind.”

“You good? I mean, physically you benched yourself for the next week, but everything else okay?”

York stared at his fellow agent, biting his lip hard enough to nearly break skin. Oh god, it would be so easy to just tell North about it. But knowing the platinum blond and his soft spot for the babylancer...

“...I'm good.”

“You're sure?”

“Yep.”

Dammit.

* * *

It took an extra week for the head physician to clear him for duty and another full month for York to be added to the full line up once more. He returned to North's gentle teasing, Carolina's disapproving frown (even disappointed she was _so pretty_), and Maine just kinda... staring at him with unnerving intensity.

It was frightening. He found himself quietly avoiding Maine after the paintball session, which meant avoiding Wash by proxy.

York sighed as he carefully opened his locker, wincing at South's braying laughter as he carefully stripped out of his armor. The younger of the Dakota twins was exuberant today, fresh off of a successful field assignment which resulted in her rising another spot up in the leader board and knocking him down to the eighth spot. Which okay, yeah, after he ate cement in front of everyone, she kinda deserved it.

A flash of bright blond hair bounced into the corner of York's vision. “She's not stopping, is she?” Wash was flushed, skin sill hot from the steam of the communal showers and smelling like strawberries. He was still half-dressed, legs exposed as he dragged a towel over his damp hair and eyed York over in mild concern, “how's your head been?”

A sudden image of Wash crying out with his legs spread wide suddenly came to mind.

“Aww, you're worried sick about me? Should Maine be concerned you got another man on your mind?” he winked, slinging an arm around small shoulders. Wash guffawed, “okay that's enough.” He shoved him off, returning to his own open locker and dutifully reshelving his toiletries. He reached for the last of his change of clothes, the hem of his shirt rising just enough to expose a tantalizing view of muscular thighs.

“I'm fine, a little sore here and there, but I'm good. Your guy sure nailed me hard. I'm sure you know what that's like.”

“York!” the younger of the two laughed despite his attempts to be stern, “be serious. He already took you out for four weeks. You want him to take you out for another four?”

York took a quick look at his surroundings. The twins were watching them, Wyoming nodding along to himself from his place with Florida on the bench. Even C.T. And Carolina were just a few lockers away, talking among themselves as they suited up for their own simulations. Perfect.

This was it.

“Speaking of, I saw you doing the most _interesting_ thing a few weeks ago-”

“Ooh,” South bounded up to them, slotting herself perfectly into the conversation, “you got something to share with the class about the babylancer?”

“I've been here for a year, guys.”

“Baby,” South stabbed at Wash's chest with a pointy finger for emphasis.

“Hey!”

York's locker suddenly slammed shut with a deafening clatter of metal. York screamed and South shouted, hearts thundering as they scrambled backwards. Florida let out a joyous laugh as Maine unabashedly stared back at them, hunkering figure just a breath away. One large palm lay flat against the locker door, having clearly snuck up on their little group from behind.

“_Jesus_,” South wheezed, hand gripping her chest as York quietly hyperventilated.

Unmoved as always, Washington closed his locker and peeked around the two to look at his lover with a sigh, resigned to his behavior. “Ready?” He received a grunt in return and an insistent nod towards the door. The rookie stepped around York and South, waving at C.T. on his way out.

“I fucking hate it when he does that,” South's good mood soured, scowling as she trudged back over to her brother. “What were you gonna say anyway? Before the big lug came?”

Maine was still standing at the door, unblinking. York swallowed the thick lump in his throat.

“Oh. Uh.... nothing. Just some stupid cat bullshit he did a while back. You know how he is with the fur bags.”

South grumbled as Maine finally followed Wash out, but as York weakly straightened to input his combination in once more, he swears he could feel dark eyes boring holes straight through his head.

* * *

Every time York bounds to Wash, Maine is there. Towering and just... there. Like a wild animal waiting to attack.

It was making him very nervous.

He was sprawled on one of the other couches in the lounge (he can't really bring himself to use the one his friends... desecrated), the Spartan watching him from the corner of his eye as his partner leaned into his side, gesturing to something on his data pad.

“Maybe this isn't worth it,” he finally murmured to himself, squirming in place. Maybe he should get away for a few weeks, before Maine decided Wash is a genius and puts him in a coma for the next few months.

* * *

Wash clamped a hand tight over his mouth as he came with a choked off cry, cursing weakly as his body twitched with the force of his orgasm. Maine groaned at the tightness of his body clenching around him, petting his lover's quivering belly and sides soothingly, carefully bringing him down from his high. The blond continued gently rocking back and forth in his partner's lap, relishing the aftershocks.

“Oh fuck,” Wash finally sighed and stilled, leaning back and loosening the fingers of his left hand from their iron grip in the sheets, “fuck. Okay, yeah you were right. Missing dinner was worth it. Holy shit-”

Maine snorted, endlessly charmed. “Duh,” he snarked, pulling Wash down to suck a line of kisses up the damp column of his neck, taking his weight into his arms. Wash goes easily, the two moaning as the movement pressed Maine deeper into him, both still sensitive after spending hours keeping one another on edge. Leisurely days were few and far in between for people like them; a minimal training regime and more than half of the Freelancers gone on either approved leave or long-term missions provided perfect conditions for them to take an early night for themselves, and they were very determined to enjoy themselves.

Wash giggled, squirming relentlessly as Maine's attentions shifted to the ticklish spot behind his ear. “Alright, smartass. Geez, you've been on a roll lately, haven't you? Such a mean bully,” Washington's hands come up to cup his face for a teasing brush of kiss-bruised lips, “why do I like you so much again?” Maine shrugged in good-humor, leaning in for another kiss. Wash opened up for him, soft and warm as always, whining in the back of his throat as he was carefully lifted off his partner's softening dick. Wash sprawled over him with a deep yawn, ignoring the mess streaked between their stomachs.

“Really though,” he murmured, snuggling to find the most comfortable position, “you've been really mean lately. Which is okay, since you know how I feel about you getting mean.” Maine huffed an amused breath, earning himself a weak slap on the chest. Wash glared at him, mock angry.

“Don't,” he warned, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth, “I'm serious. You've been meaner than usual, mister. Especially to York-”

“He deserves it.”

“Babe!” A sudden laugh burst from Wash's pursed lips, his lithe body shaking with mirth, “Rude!”

“It's true.”

“I mean... well,” a pregnant pause, “Yeah, but don't say it like _**that**_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Maine ABSOLUTELY knows that York walked in on him and Wash having sex. No, he is never telling either of them. York's terror is absolutely hilarious to him, but Maine is also low-key scared of Wash's reaction.
> 
> Ends a little abruptly, mostly because I have had this in progress for a long time and I really just wanted to finish it up. Might edit it a little this coming week, idk I haven't decided.


End file.
